[Note: Hanging out with me IRL (in real life) shouldn’t mean entanglement in the script of a Curmudgeonly Saga. Thus, I’ve changed names, dates, locations, and details. This is to preserve anonymity of anyone involved with my travels (including me). It’s not intended to let me author inaccurate fish tales. Everything I write, including stories about talking trees, hopes to capture the moment. Even when masked for privacy, I’m truer than CNN.]
My first outing of the year proved the concept. (See: Walkabout) My little boat floats, my new tent is awesome, and my soul flourishes with the outdoor time. The second outing added a twist. It involved the incalculable variable of human interaction. (I’m not completely antisocial, but I do prefer to be alone. I’m among the small part of the human population that just can’t grok the urge to be around other people. It’s a PITA; but that’s another story.)
This outing was with a group. Of people. Who I didn’t really know. Paging Dr. Gregarious, your ride is here! I was jumpy camping as a stranger amid a group of friends engaged in (and experienced with) the activity of sailing (about which I know nothing). I had flashbacks to every “group project” I’ve ever faced.
My motivation was companionship and learning. These folks had all (or mostly) built their own boats (and they’re all really nice people to boot!). Experientially, there’s a huge, vast, epic gulf between the mind of a sailor who built his craft (no matter how humble) and one who financed it. Also, they sail while camping next to freshwater lakes. This is precisely the skillset I want to gain! I’d be a fool not to avail myself of such an incredibly specific learning experience. (I’d been skating on thin ice sailing solo and stupid on a huge lake the month before. I was well aware of the risks I was taking but that doesn’t change the fact that I was taking them.)
I dithered. I’m often outside of my comfort zone but I was about to be outside of my comfort planet. Mrs. Curmudgeon helpfully told me to get my head out of my ass and get on with it. Which I did. She’s a keeper.
Uncharacteristically, (and because I’m not totally immune to vanity) I decided to spiff up my boat. (I wanted the best first impression. I was going to be around other people who knew what they were doing when they built their boats.)
There wasn’t much to do. I only finished my craft last fall. However, it had a few scratches and such. I’ve sailed into rocks and it’s been trailered all over creation. For no other reason than aesthetics I slapped a new coat of paint on the already overengineered hull. I also fretted over how to stencil the name on the hull. Without it, the poor boat felt “unfinished”. I discovered stencils are apparently a lost technology. The local stores didn’t carry much; everyone uses stickers now. I grumbled about “self-driving cars” and “people are pussies” but when I slapped on stickers it actually looked OK. (I’m not announcing the boat’s name as my dog says that’s an OPSEC violation.)
Then, I retreated to my shop and got creative! As the pièce de résistance I designed and fabricated a unique and very cool little boat cart. My idea was to wean myself off needing a boat ramp and a trailer. I could slide the boat off the trailer onto the little cart and then wheel the cart down any hiking path, bike trail, or even ATV trail that’s 4’ wide. I built it easy rolling and was pretty stoked with my creation. I nicknamed it “boat rickshaw” and I loved it. I’m pretty sure I could roll it down a country path for a mile or so without trouble or undue labor. I’d just opened up new vistas to explore!
The proposed campsite had a nice little beach and a walking path to the beach. Instead of putting the boat in at a boat ramp a half mile away, I’d roll my boat right to the water and dump it from the cart!
I gloated over this cool idea and even varnished the crude 2×4” structure. Then I got word that spring flooding had immersed the beach and erosion had made the walking path unusable. Dammit!
I decided to take the boat rickshaw anyway. Where better to test it than a campsite full of small boat builders? I’d surely get some valuable constructive criticism. Unfortunately, on departure day it didn’t fit on the trailer. The idea was that the boat rides on the trailer (which is just a utility trailer I use to haul firewood) and the boat rickshaw rides on top of the boat. A few key measurements were at odds and the thing was roughly ¾” too wide to “nest” properly. I tried to stuff it in my truck bed but all I did was scratch the hell out of the truck bed while determining the device wouldn’t fit under my toolbox.
Such are the vagaries of building your own shit.
Stay tuned for more.